


Watering the Seed

by battybatzgirl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is The Worst Babysitter, Baby Warlock Dowling, Caretaking, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Kid Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Zira has Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battybatzgirl/pseuds/battybatzgirl
Summary: After a long day of gardening (or rather, enjoying the shade of a large oak tree while casting blessings on various plants to keep up appearances), Aziraphale made his way back to his flat above the Dowling’s garage. Just as he cracked open the cover of his book, a knock interrupted him.Huffing in a little irritation, he strode back over to the door. “Yes?” He opened it, and suddenly had an infant being shoved into his arms.“Take him,” Crowley bit out desperately, then collapsed into his snake form.((Or, the one where Crowley has to shed his snakeskin, and puts Aziraphale on Nanny duty.))
Relationships: Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Comments: 3
Kudos: 94





	Watering the Seed

**Author's Note:**

> ((I should be writing but instead I'm writing))
> 
> As said in the tags, this was a shameless excuse to write Snek!Crowley doting over baby Warlock and Aziraphale being the worse babysitter ever.

After a long day of gardening (or rather, enjoying the shade of a large oak tree while casting blessings on various plants to keep up appearances), Aziraphale made his way back to his flat above the Dowling’s garage. He considered miracling himself some supper, but thought the effort would be better used on pulling one of his favorite books from his shop. Removing his boots and setting them by the door, he pulled the tome out of thin air and headed over to the couch, ready to settle in between the pages for the night.

Just as he cracked open the cover, a knock interrupted him.

Huffing in a little irritation, he strode back over to the door. “Yes?” He opened it, and suddenly had an infant being shoved into his arms.

“Take him,” Crowley bit out desperately, then collapsed into his snake form.

A small whoosh of surprised breath slipped past Aziraphale’s lips. The one-year-old in his arms made a small fussing noise, as if confused as to why he was suddenly in unfamiliar arms. His bottom lip trembled, an onslaught of tears on the horizon, Aziraphale quickly drew him closer.

“There now, there’s no reason for that pout.” He tickled the boy under the chin and it looked like the child was working up a smile.

There was a loud crack behind him and Aziraphle jumped, ruining whatever peace was in the air. Shushing the boy’s warbled noise, the angel turned to see one of the wooden chairs on the floor next to the dining table. Crowley was winding himself around the thick stand of the table, the movements of his body jerkier than normal.

While Crowley might have been known to coil on occasion, he certainly wasn’t one to do it with such vigor unless he was about to eat. It took Aziraphale only a moment to put it together.

“Are you shedding, dear?”

A half-irritated, half-desperate noise lifted in the air in response. Careful not to disturb the itching serpent, Aziraphale carefully stepped around the table and picked up the chair that had fallen. He sat, bringing the boy onto his lap and bouncing him on one knee.

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you this distraught,” the angel mused. Crowley didn’t shed every season, as per the habit of a normal snake, but every five-hundred years or so. Usually, the demon would disappear for a week, locking himself away to do whatever he needed to in order to free himself of his skin. Crowley was usually so in tune with himself, it was a shock to see him acting so desperate.

“Been puttin’ it off,” Crowley’s voice came from somewhere below the table. “The Dowlings are out till the end of the week and I thought I could wait till they got back.”

Aziraphale hummed in response, remembering with a little distaste how they chose to leave their infant child behind on a business trip to Paris. Though he couldn’t imagine the French particularly enjoyed screaming babies, he still thought it was a little insensitive that they left Warlock without a second thought. At this rate, Crowley was becoming more of a mother to the boy than his biological kin.

“They’ll be back in three days,” Crowley went on, “and I can’t let them see me like this.”

Warlock gurgled and Aziraphale turned him around, wrinkling up his nose to make the boy giggle. “Best get it taken care of before they get back. We mustn’t let them know a garter snake has infiltrated their petunia bed.”

Crowley’s giant head rose up next to Aziraphale’s shoulder, casting a dark shadow across the baby. A forked tongue flicked out of the snake’s jaw in annoyance. “Petunias are eyesores and the day you plant them will be the day I set your first edition of The Canterville Ghost on fire.”

Aziraphale sharpened his gaze. “If you ever smuggle so much as a single match near my collection—”

He was cut off when a shrill wail pierced the air. Warlock squirmed in his arms, tiny cheeks blotting red as tears rolled down his cheeks. Before Aziraphale could react, Crowley morphed back into his human form and plucked the boy from him.

“Hush now, you know Nanny would never bite.” The light, sing-song tone to his voice stunned Aziraphale for a moment. He was still getting used to the theoretically contrasting concepts of _Crowley_ and _nurturing_ used in the same sentence.

 _Although_ , Aziraphale thought, _he does have a particular love of helping plants grow_. Perhaps Crowley was treating Warlock like one of his seedlings? But plants and humans were quite different. If he remembered correctly, the demon _did_ always seem to have a soft spot for children. The idea of posing as a nanny came almost instantly to his mind when they were coming up with roles they could play in the antichrist’s young life.

He watched as Crowley expertly balanced the boy on one cocked hip, twirling and bouncing around the room as if to make the boy dizzy. The boy’s cries quieted immediately, replaced with wet giggles. “Save the shrieking for your mummy, little hellspawn.”

Despite his movement, Aziraphale caught sight of the black scales protruding out of Crowley’s joints and under his jaw. If he was weak enough to lose control over his cooperation, he must have been further gone than Aziraphale initially realized. “You can’t keep switching back and forth, dear. It’s going to take a toll on you.”

“I know,” Crowley said, “that’s why I was going to ask— _shit_!”

The demon’s unoccupied hand flew to the side of his neck and Warlock shrieked in delight. Aziraphale rushed over and took the boy as Crowley backed away.

“Little bastard keeps ripping out my scales!” Crowley’s chest was heaving, eyes so dilated the black was nearly eclipsed by the yellow. He threw up two fingers, which were damp with fresh blood. “He’s done it twice— _no_ , for someone’s sake, _don’t put that in your mouth_!”

The demon lunched forward and snatched the scale out of the boy’s chubby fist. Warlock looked like he was going to burst into tears again, so Aziraphale quickly miracled a pacifier to solve the problem. Now that the child was content, he stooped to set the boy on the floor.

“You can’t blame a child for being naturally curious,” he chided. “May I?”

Crowley grumbled sourly as Aziraphale gently took his chin and tilted his head to the side. “How ‘bout I rip out your fingernails. Then we’ll see who’s all forgiving, won’t we?”

The skin where the scale had once been was pink and raw, as if a scab had been ripped off too soon. Aziraphale took note of the rest of the scaled areas on Crowley’s skin, feeling his chest squeeze. It had to be uncomfortable, suddenly feeling too large for one’s skin. Crowley must be in some pain, if not only mildly so. The slight tremble demon’s shoulders confirmed just as much.

“Angel,” Crowley began, his voice hesitant. He looked incredibly vulnerable, his glasses off, once perfectly coiled hair coming undone by the ringlets. The demon rarely showed anything but his unflappable bravado, rarely asked for _help_ , and this show of unabated softness in Crowley unleashed a warm, fluttering feeling in Aziraphale’s gut. “I can’t delay shedding any longer, but I can’t let Warlock be on his own—”

“I’ll watch the boy.”

Crowley blinked as if his sudden agreement was unexpected, but the relief tugged the stress out of his shoulders. “You will?”

Aziraphale felt a smile growing on his lips. “Of course I will. I’ve been meaning to get some quality time in with the darling gift from—well.”

Crowley smirked. “ _Darling_ and _gift_ shouldn’t be used in the same sentence regarding this child.”

Aziraphale huffed, though they both knew it was really only for show. “ _All_ children are gifts.”

“Even the ones that rub their boogers between the pages of library books?”

Aziraphale glared. Crowley looked smug. Below them, the boy made a gurgling noise and clapped his hands together.

Crowley looked down at the infant. “I can give you his schedule tomorrow.” The boy was now tugging at the end of his dress. “Make sure to cause this goodie-two-shoes of an angel a lot of trouble.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “He’s barely a year old. He's too young to have grown into his hellish powers.”

The demon spared him a glance over hooded eyelids. “Children have their own special brand of hellish power.”

Then, he morphed back into his snake form and nuzzled his giant head against Warlock’s tummy. The boy would have fallen backward from the force if Crowley hadn’t caught him with his tail, nudging the child to stay upright. Squealing, the boy pats his chubby palms against the serpent’s head. It looks terribly domestic, and Aziraphale wondered for a moment how such a docile little creature was meant to bring about the end of all things.

He wouldn't bring about the end, not if Aziraphale had anything to say about it. That's why he was here. To prevent such things from coming to pass. 

And _special brand of hellish power_. Aziraphale scoffed at the thought. Warlock might be the antichrist, but he was still only an _infant_. How hard could watching him be? 


End file.
